


Unlucky Bastards

by nauticalwarrior



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Friendship, M/M, Mute Canada, Muteness, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-03
Updated: 2016-06-28
Packaged: 2018-06-06 01:53:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6733204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nauticalwarrior/pseuds/nauticalwarrior
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Matthew isn't noticed by anybody. Gilbert can't handle all the attention he gets. A story that will show many pairings and many characters, with a focus on Matthew, Gilbert, and some of their close friends.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Matthew

**Author's Note:**

> Here it issssss! I've been working on this forever, so it's a bit longer than my normal chapters. However, expect slower updates on this! Also, keep an eye out for warnings. No warnings this chapter though, so enjoy!

Matthew opens his backpack for what must be the hundredth time, double, triple, quadruple checking that he’s got everything he needs- pencils, paper, pens, folders, and his summer project for English. Just like the last time, it’s all there. He sighs and tugs the zipper closed again on his backpack, the red fabric on it sighing along with him. It’s the brightest, boldest color he’s ever dare bring to school (seventh grade was black, eighth grey, freshman year blue), but he has no doubt in his mind that it won’t matter. Nobody ever pays him any mind, red backpack or no. 

 

“Hey Mattie, you ready?” Matthew jumps, startled to see Alfred standing right behind him. His twin brother is, of course, is the only exception. While he may forget about his quiet counterpart at parties or in crowds, Alfred  _ always _ talks to Matthew at home. Matthew simply nods his response, and Alfred's grabbing his hand and pulling him out of the door. 

 

It’s a beautiful day; the sky is a clear, cornflower blue with a faint smattering of clouds dancing around the bright sun. September warmth seems to melt into Matthew’s skin, making him very glad he chose a short sleeved shirt this morning. He likes the United States well enough, but it’s just so  _ hot _ . Despite being born and raised in America, he knows that his heart lies in their Canadian vacation home, in the woods and the maple and the snow. 

 

“You excited for school? I’m so glad we’re not freshmen this year. There’s gonna be a whole bunch of people younger than me for once!” Matthew nods, the corners of his lips turning upwards into a small smile. Alfred’s like a puppy, loud and excited. The world could be ending, and Matthew wouldn’t be shocked if Alfred laughed about it.

 

“I hope we get some classes together this year. Last year sucked.” Matthew nods again, fully aware that Alfred is just rambling and isn’t looking for a real answer. And while, yes, Matthew would  _ love  _ a few classes with his brother, Alfred would end up hanging out with his friends anyways. Matthew looks down at the asphalt, watching the crackly brown leaves shift silently in the wind. Do they mind that they’re not noticed? Probably not. 

 

“We’re here!” Matthew looks up. They live so close to the high school that it really isn’t much of a walk, but it’s still one of the best parts of his day. If Matthew could walk anywhere in the world and never tire, he’d never ever want a car. The school is, as usual, a bit rundown. The paint looks new from last year, but the dark green color of the Settville Snakes does nothing to convince him that the building will be any less derelict on the inside. The school had been here  _ forever _ . When people made jokes about it having been from the revolutionary war, nobody really knew if they were joking. 

 

“Oh, I think that’s where we’re supposed to get our schedules.” Alfred is pointing at a stand with a rather large crowd of student around it. Matthew can vaguely make out the blonde hair of the principal, some european whose name he can never remember nor pronounce. “Don’t worry, I’ll help you out.” Matthew hadn’t been doubting that Alfred would, but he still breathes a sigh of relief. This would be such a pain without the help. 

 

The two of them (well, Alfred mostly) push their way through the crowd. The heavy fabric of backpacks, the smell of cologne, and the thick aroma of armpit are nearly too much for Matthew. He wishes dearly that he was at home, wrapped in a blanket, not here and in a crowd of gross teenagers. 

 

“Last names?” The woman at the table looks very, very tired. Matthew sympathizes with her as he looks over the long rows of schedules, organized by last name. 

 

“Jones-Williams. With a dash.” Matthew looks at Alfred just in time to catch his million-dollar grin. The show-stopper, the crowd-pleaser. When his brother bared his pearly whites, everyone dropped everything to wait on him. Okay, so maybe not quite like that, but Matthew still believes that grin must have some magical power.

 

“Are you two twins? Oh, here they are.” The woman hands Alfred the papers, who nods and answers her with that grin still glowing on his face.

 

“Yup. Although, I’m the older one! By like, 3 minutes.” Both Alfred and the woman laugh, but Matthew just smiles. Alfred is so proud of his older brother status, and Matthew thinks it’s cute. His  _ big  _ brother, with his muscles and his leather jacket and his American football. Alfred’s  _ little  _ brother, with his small frame and his maple syrup and his hockey. It was just the natural order of things. 

 

“Oh no!” Matthew looks up at Alfred in concern. He sounds really upset! “We don’t even have lunch together?!” Matthew stares blankly at the schedules, his expression of horror probably a mirror of his brother’s. He’s going to  _ die  _ this year. 

 

As if rubbing in his doom, the bell takes that exact moment to ring, a shrill, angry sound that makes Matthew want to cry. 

 

“Shit, fuck, okay, uh here’s your schedule. You’re in room 304, with English first. Good luck!” And with that, Alfred dashes off towards the 100s hall and the opposite direction of his twin. Matthew stares helplessly at his disappearing figure for a moment before sighing and turning towards the 300s hall. Time for class, he supposes. 

 

The hallways are thick with other students, mostly in pairs or trios, talking and laughing and shoving each other. Matthew is pretty sure he sees some lonely freshmen, but he doesn’t bother trying to walk with any of them. Instead, he keeps his gaze focused steadily on the 304 sign he sees just ahead. The green painted bricks of the wall next to the classroom what looks like grammar on them, and Matthew is already dreading this class to the point where any more negativity is impossible. English  _ sucks _ . 

 

Matthew finally reaches the door, a bit too out of breath given that this is basically the closest room to the entrance area- the lobby, he thinks it’s called. But in his defense, the other students keep shoving him, even now as he reaches the door. Thankfully, the teacher isn’t waiting at the door to greet him. Instead, he’s able to glide into the classroom and take in its colorful walls without an awkward handshake and conversation. The walls are plastered with posted, both informative and not. Matthew finds himself wondering what a poster of a koala has to do with English. 

 

He shakes his head, reminding himself not to get distracted. He forces himself to walk across the room to the teacher’s desk, despite his growing anxiety. The teacher is a very fit man with dark, somewhat shaggy hair and very casual clothing. He smiles at Matthew when he approaches, his grin nearly rivalling Alfred’s and his teeth just as white.

 

“What can I do for you, mate?” The australian accent is the first thing Matthew notices, and it’s a bit overwhelming. Isn’t it kind of odd to have an Aussie teach English? But honestly, that’s not what Matthew’s here for. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a folded piece of printer paper, the black ink showing just a little through the thin white paper. He passes it to the teacher, who looks solidly confused until he unfolds it and reads the sheet.

 

“Oh, I got an email about you! I’m Ralph Wilson, by the way, nice to meet you!” He extends a hand, which Matthew makes an attempt to shake. Mr. Wilson’s grip is far, far stronger than his however, and he mostly just gets shook about. “Do you know sign language? I know Auslan and ASL.” Matthew can feel his smile spread across his face.

 

“ _ I know ASL!”  _ Mr. Wilson smiles right back at him, those white teeth making a second appearance. 

 

“Glad to hear it! Or uh, see it I guess.” The aussie chuckles lightly at his own mistake. “Anyways, hopefully you’ll enjoy having my class this year! Just because you can't talk doesn’t mean you can’t make write awesome essays!” Matthew nods happily at his enthusiasm. Already, this year is looking up. 

 

* * *

 

 

This year is not living up to expectations. It’s not like Matthew had any, not until English anyways. But while all of his teachers had been nice, they hadn’t known ASL, and the other students weren’t nice. Either he was ignored, as usual, or pestered with more annoying questions then he had the time to write the answers to. Sometimes, Matthew is glad for his regular invisibility. It’s far better than the obnoxious questioning. 

 

Now, as Matthew heads towards the last class of the day, he’s got his nice, warm bed to look forward to. He can just go home, curl up, and watch dumb videos until he falls asleep. No stupid teachers, no stupid kids, and no stupid questions. His last class, the only thing standing between him and sleep, is World History, and he’s already heard the rumors. Apparently, the teacher is not only middle eastern, but also quite laid back. This is a good thing and a bad one- Matthew’s less likely to have to present, but also less likely to get a teacher that cares. Matthew tentatively enters the classroom, noting the maps covering the walls and the strong smell of something woody- sandalwood? Whatever it was, it successfully covers the scent of armpit that Matthew had been forced to smell all day. The lights in the room are off, and the only light comes from a small orange lava lamp and a projector that’s just projecting a blank screen onto a wall.

 

“Welcome, now go sit down. Your name is on a sticky note on your desk.” Matthew looks up at the teacher, fully intending on handing him his note, but he’s pushed from behind before he can get a good look at the man. What he does see though, is a stubbly jaw and short brown hair along with olive skin. Well, the teacher was definitely middle eastern. That rumor at least, is confirmed. Sighing in resignation to his fate, Matthew scans the desks for his name. He spots it fairly quickly- he’s seated behind some kid who’s got his head down and his hair obscured by a hood. Matthew sets his bag down and begins the daunting task of pushing past tired high schoolers to hand the teacher- Mr. Adnan, his schedule says- his note. A couple of students glare at him, but nobody says anything, which is probably for the best. Matthew waves his hand at the teacher, but the man doesn’t seem to notice, instead telling another student about the seating arrangement. Matthew sighs and tugs on Mr. Adnan’s sleeve.

 

“Go sit down. You can’t possibly have any questions before I’ve taught you anything.” The teacher looks really annoyed, and if Matthew wasn’t absolutely terrified, he’d laugh. Instead, he holds his note to the man, who frowns and take it. It’s already unfolded, but he still takes longer to read it than any of the other teachers had.

 

“Uh, okay. I don’t know how you normally do class, but I’ve never had a mute student before...” Mr. Adnan looks so incredibly awkward that Matthew just gives him a small smile and nods before heading back to his desk. What other option does he have, anyways? Not like he can just  _ tell  _ him anything. 

 

Matthew slides into his seat with a sigh. The kid in front of him is still face-down on the desk, probably asleep, but another student has taken the seat to his left. The desk behind him remains empty, and he’s in the rightmost row, so this kid is probably his best bet at socialization. None of his other classes had yielded any acquaintances, let alone potential friends.

 

The boy to his left has long, wavy blonde hair, not unlike Matthew’s, and he’s wearing what looks to be designer clothes. He looks positively bored out of his mind, and Matthew’s staring must have caught his eye, because he turns to Matthew and smiles.

 

“‘Ello.” Matthew  _ thinks  _ that’s a french accent. He’s not sure, but either way he waves and smiles back, hoping that’s sufficient. “What’s your name? I am Francis.” Definitely a french accent. Matthew raises one finger in his typical “one moment” gesture and takes a blank sheet of notebook paper out of his backpack, along with his pen. He scrawls out a quick greeting passes the note to Francis, who looks completely befuddled. 

 

_ <Hello! I’m Matthew. I can’t talk though, sorry :(> _ Francis reads the note, mouthing the words silently. After a moment he looks up and smiles again.

 

“Ah, it is no problem!” Francis flips his hair. “Although I must apologize. I do know a sign language, but it happens to be French Sign Language.” Matthew nods and takes the note back.

 

_ <That’s okay. Most people don’t know any sign, so I’m pretty used to writing hahah.> _ Francis nods sagely as he reads the note.

 

“That must get tiring, no? I have heard that LSF has a lot in common with ASL. Perhaps I will learn.” Matthew grins, and Francis smiles right back at him. 

 

_ <That would be great!> _ Francis looks proud of himself and flips his hair once more. It looks a little prissy, but Matthew supposes having hair any longer than his own must get a bit annoying at times. He grabs the note and scribbles down a question, handing it to Francis.  _ < _ _ Parlez-vous français? [Do you speak french?]> _

 

“Oui! Il est ma langue maternelle ! [It is my mother language!]” Francis looks quite pleased, and Matthew finds himself smiling again. 

 

“Alright class, let’s all shut up and listen!” Mr. Adnan’s voice startles Matthew into jumping about a foot in the air. He glances around nervously, trying to see if anyone had seen, but Francis looks just as startled as he is. Somehow, Mr. Adnan had gotten to the front of the class and put a photo of himself on the projector. 

 

“I’m Mr. Adnan, and I’m your history teacher. Yes, I am from Turkey. No, I am not a terrorist. Now let’s do roll-call.” The class murmurs at Mr. Adnan’s words, but nobody speaks out. Mr. Adnan starts to call names, the first one belonging to some girl on the other side of the class. The second one, “Gilbert Beilschmidt?” The boy whose head has been down all class mumbles a “Here.” and waves his hand above his head sleepily. Matthew watches that hand- it’s pale, really pale. 

 

The teacher continues to call names, and Francis’s is the next one. “Francis Bonnefoy?” The teacher mangles the pronunciation a bit, but Francis responds anyways.

 

“Here.” His accent cuts of the ‘h’ sound, but Mr. Adnan must have known what he meant. Matthew waits patiently for his name to be called, and when it finally is, he just waves his hand. Mr. Adnan glances at him, nods, and continues. 

 

“Hey,” Francis is leaning in, whispering. “Do you think that kid’s the one people have been talking about? A german albino?” Matthew shrugs and looks over at the boy. His black hoodie, blue jeans, and grey backpack offer no clue. However, Francis seems determined not to just guess. He leans over and taps the boy on his shoulder.

 

“Go away.” That was certainly a german accent at the least. Matthew stares at the boy, glad that his head is down and he can’t see Matthew’s incessant gaze.

 

“Ah, but I just want to be friendly. I am from France, so we are both foreign, oui?” At that, the boy- Gilbert- raises his head and looks at Francis. His hair is so blonde it may as well be white, and his skin could rival a sheet of paper. His eyes, though, are red, and his cheeks are slightly pinker than the rest of him. Matthew thinks it’s beautiful. 

 

“I’m Gil, and I’m basically the most awesome person here. School however, is not awesome.” Gilbert sounds pretty sleepy, and Matthew giggles silently. Neither of the other two seem to notice.

 

“Agreed, school is dismal at best. Is this your first year here?” Francis sets his head on his hand, looking at Gilbert with what looks like curiosity, but fancier. At least Matthew thinks so. 

 

“Ja. My brother and I moved here from Berlin this summer. You?” Gilbert still looks fairly annoyed and a bit cautious, but at least he doesn’t have his head down.

 

“I, as well, moved here this summer! From Paris, of course.” Francis glances at Matthew and seems to remember him. “Oh, and this is Matthew. He can’t talk, but he’s a sweetheart.” Matthew feels his face go a bit red at that comment. Plus, now Gilbert’s staring at him with a grin on his face.

 

“Sup.” Matthew almost laughs, but catches himself. Instead, he writes down a message and hands it to Gil. 

 

_ <Not much is ‘sup’ with me. How about you?> _ Gilbert takes awhile to read the note, but he hands it back and replies as soon as he’s done.

  
“Eh, could be better. School.” Matthew nods. No more need be said. 


	2. Gilbert, Francis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> These boys really are trying their best.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, chapter 2! I haven't abandoned Not Sick, I just had these scenes already written so I edited them (kinda) and I figured I'd post them. 
> 
> Trigger warning for self-harm in this chapter. Please be safe <3

Gilbert is really, really tired. School was a pain, just like always, but everything seems worse here. In Germany, at least he knew the language and the culture inside out. Even if he’s albino and loud and  _ weird _ , he was German and he belonged. In America, he isn't just a mutant freak, he’s a foreign mutant freak. Gilbert slams the front door behind him and stomps up the stairs, backpack slung over one shoulder. 

 

“Please don’t slam the door.” Gilbert ignores the frustrated voice of his younger brother, Ludwig. His sibling doesn't understand _ anything. _ Luddy is polite and normal; Gil is brash and unusual. Ludwig is a prodigy; Gilbert is a failure. Gilbert reaches the top of the stairs and turns the corner, shutting the door to his room behind him as he enters. 

 

His room is clean but not neat. There's never any garbage or any dust, but his clean laundry sits unfolded in a basket. Gilbert likes it best this way, and he's very glad for the comfort of his room right now. He drops his backpack to the ground and flops down on his bed with a sigh. His plain, white ceiling stares back at him silently as he takes a deep breath. Today was just the first day. People will get used to him, and things will be good. 

 

Gilbert doesn't believe it. He groans and throws one hand over his eyes dramatically, like he's in a soap opera and he's about to faint. This  _ sucks _ . Gilbert can feel frustration welling up behind his eyes, threatening to spill over. Verdammt, he doesn't want to cry like a little bitch on the first day of school. He's past that stage. Not everything sucked today, right? That mute kid- Matthew?- and Francis hadn't been half bad. He'd even given them his number! And they aren't texting him, probably because he's an albino freak. 

 

“Okay Gil, you're far too awesome for this. You're going to grab a snack and some water, and when you come back upstairs you're gonna play some videogames and waste time.” Gilbert's voice is soft and upset, and he knows talking to himself is weird, but it helps.  Obeying himself, he stands up and opens his door, shuffling to the stairs much more slowly than he had entered. 

 

“Bruder?” Ludwig is standing about halfway up the stairs, a mildly surprised expression on his face. “Are you doing alright?” 

 

Gilbert knows that means he looks like he isn't. “Ja, ja. I'm fine.” He slips past his younger brother, not looking at his face. He doesn't want to see the skeptical look Ludwig would give him. Luckily, he gets all the way down the stairs and into the kitchen without a single peep from his sibling. Thank goodness for that. Gilbert opens the fridge and stares at the dumb American food, wondering what he should eat. After a moment of thinking, he shuts the fridge, instead reaching for the bag of chips on top of it. They're green onion flavor, not his favorite, but good enough. He tears the bag open as he grabs a glass and fills it with tap water, humming an unrecognizable tune under his breath. See, he can do things. Just because school is lame doesn't mean he isn't awesome. 

 

Gilbert walks back out of the kitchen and back up the stairs, the carpet softly squishing under his shoes. When he gets to his room, he tucks the chips under one arm to open the door, splashing water on his hoodie. 

 

“Verdammt.” He swears softly, and almost slams the door behind him, reigning in his anger in just in time. If he'd slammed it, Ludwig would surely come running, and Gilbert really does not want to deal with that right now. Instead, he cusses under his breath and sets his snack down on his side table. He managed to get water all over his hoodie. Smooth moves, Beilschmidt.

 

Gil reaches over and locks his door before pulling his hoodie over his head. He's not shy by any means, but he sure as hell doesn't want Luddy to walk in and see the rows of bright red cuts and shiny pink scars that line his arms. It would be beyond cruel to let his little brother see that; he already worries enough about his older brother. Gilbert sighs and begins rummaging through his laundry basket, hoping to find something... like that! He pulls out a green sweatshirt triumphantly, and he start to put it on. But... if he’s already shirtless, and he had a bad day...

 

“No. Bad Gil. None of that.” He tries to push the idea from his mind. He isn’t going to cut over something so trivial. Not that it would be the first time; didn’t he cut just last night for no reason other than because he was in the mood? It couldn’t possibly make anything worse if he just made a few little cuts. He’ll feel better, and then he won’t be as pissy tomorrow. Yes, this is a good idea.

 

Gilbert sets the sweatshirt down on his bed and turns to his dresser, tugging the first drawer open. His blades are right where they’ve always been- in an empty packet of cinnamon gum, right next to the tissue box full of gauze. He can remember the day he stole them from the grocery store, slipping two boxes of gauze dressing and a roll of medical tape into his backpack in the springtime of his freshman year. He’s still not sure if that was a good thing or a bad one. 

 

He sits down at the edge of his bed and takes a blade out. This one’s newer than the rest, the shiny, bright silver of an exacto knife blade gleaming at him. These are pretty sharp, but a little expensive. They get the job done well enough. Gilbert holds his left arm out carefully, supporting his wrist with his knee. It’s now or never. 

 

He carefully swipes at his skin, a bit tentative. He glances at the cut- it’s tiny. No good, no good. He tries again, with little success. Fuck it- he slashes at his forearm with only a little hesitation. The sensation is both excruciating and amazing, and Gilbert leans back, sighing. Adrenaline is flooding his veins, and he feels so much better already. Leaning forward again, he takes a good look at the cut. He watches bright, crimson blood well up and fill the cut, beading a bit at the edge. It’s gaping a little, a stark contrast to the two others, and Gilbert smiles.  This is a good one, so pretty. He reaches to his box of gauze and takes one pad out, ripping the sterile packaging open with his teeth. Quickly, before the blood runs off of his arm, he presses the gauze to his arm, dabbing gently. The blood smears a bit, staining the pale skin of his forearm pinkish-red. 

 

Gilbert makes another attempt at a cut, but this one isn’t really worth comparing to the last one. Sure, it’s bleeding and bigger than the first few, but it’s not big enough. He swipes twice more in quick succession, but those too are inadequate. He groans and presses the gauze to his arm. He can feel the weakness, the tell-tale shakiness in his arm that tells him he’s done for now. Any more cuts would just be meaningless scratches. He grabs his medical tape and tears off a piece, aping the edge of his gauze securely to his arm. His fingers feel damp where they’re holding it down, so he shifts them and sees that he’s bled through. He feels an odd sense of pride at that- he sure is good at this, isn’t he? 

 

He tapes down the other three sides of the bandage and puts his hand back on top of it, keeping steady pressure over the wounds. He read online that that was the best way to stop bleeding because while he may love blood, he does not like messy, sticky stains on his carpet. He feels light, airy, at peace, clean. His tension and stress seems to drain through the holes in his arm and onto the now soaked gauze. Gilbert grabs a black longsleeve shirt from the ground and lazily pulls it on, not bothering to get his bloody arm through the arm hole and instead just hugging his own chest with it. Now for a nap; nothing tires him out like opening a vein!

 

* * *

 

 

Francis is properly exhausted when he opens the door to his apartment, closing the door behind him with a sigh. He should have  _ known  _ better than to try and work after school, but... He needs the money. School or not, he’s going to have to work 6 days a week anyways, so he may as get used to it. He shuffles he was over to his table and sets his bag down before flinging the curtain to his ‘bedroom’ open. His apartment (studio, and quite small, but just between school and work) is not the nicest of things, but he is quite happy with the curtain. It almost makes the space feel like a feel home, not a tiny apartment that he had to beg the landlord to let him rent at his age. Nevermind that  _ technically  _ it’s perfectly legal, the man had been beyond suspicious. 

 

Francis shakes his head, trying to clear his thoughts. He glances at the clock, and sees that it’s only nine o’clock- earlier than he thought. He has time to do something, but not enough to cook. Not that he has the ingredients for that, anyways. Instead, he pulls out his phone, flopping down onto his mattress. He searches through his contacts, pleased when he finds what he’s looking for.

 

**_(9:01 pm) Francis:_ ** _ Bonjour. How are you on this fine evening? _

**_(9:03 pm) Gilbert:_ ** _ i’m assuming this is francis? and i’m good, hbu? _

**_(9:03 pm) Francis:_ ** _ Tired, but good.  _

**_(9:04 pm) Gilbert:_ ** _ so what are you doing? _

**_(9:04 pm) Francis:_ ** _ I am lying on my bed and texting you.  _

**_(9:04 pm) Gilbert:_ ** _ same lol.  _

**_(9:05 pm) Francis:_ ** _ It is good to be home after a long day, oui? _

**_(9:05 pm) Gilbert:_ ** _ yeah, for sure. do you have a job or just school? _

**_(9:06 pm) Francis:_ ** _ I work at the grocery store on the other side of town from the school. What about you, mon ami? _

**_(9:07 pm) Gilbert:_ ** _ i hope that means “my friend” and not somethign weird. i don’t have a job yet but i should probably start looking for one. _

**_(9:07 pm) Gilbert:_ ** _ something* _

**_(9:08) Francis:_ ** _ Well, good luck with your search. (And yes, mon ami means my friend.) _

Francis waits for a few minutes, but Gilbert fails to reply. The frenchman sighs and drops his phone onto the bedspread behind him, letting his eyes slip shut. As his thoughts drift, he realizes how sleepy he is. He really shouldn’t go to bed just yet... He hasn’t even eaten! Even so, he’s so tired... Francis can feel his thoughts drifting away from him, can feel his mind slowing down. Why is he so tired? He realizes that his shoes are still on, and he groans, using one foot to kick off the shoes of another. Now shoeless, he pulls his legs all the way onto the bed and shifts so that he’s curled up. He should really get up and make himself dinner, or get something to drink at the very least. Even just change out of his clothes and into something more comfortable! But even as he thinks that, he can feel himself falling asleep. 

 

**_(9:21 pm) Gilbert:_ ** _ hey which lunch do you have?  _

 

Francis sighs, reading his phone. It’s a good thing Gilbert texted him; he really shouldn’t make a habit of going to sleep so early. 

 

**_(9:22 pm) Francis:_ ** _ The second one, I believe. You? _

**_(9:22 pm) Gilbert:_ ** _ same. wanna eat together tomorrow?  _

**_(9:23 pm) Francis:_ ** _ That would be nice. Do you mind if I invite Matthieu along as well? He has the same lunch as us.  _

**_(9:23 pm) Gilbert:_ ** _ pls do. he’s cool. _

**_(9:23 pm) Francis:_ ** _ That he is. Do you want me to make a group chat between the three of us? I have his number.  _

**_(9:24 pm) Gilbert:_ ** _ duuuuuude do it _

 

Francis flips through his phone contacts, finding Matthew’s number in no time.

 

**_Group Chat: Matthew, Gilbert_ **

**_(9:26 pm) Francis:_ ** _ Bonjour, Matthieu. How are you today? _

**_(9:27 pm) Matthew:_ ** _ I’m good! How are you? _

**_(9:27 pm) Francis:_ ** _ I’m well, thank you. _

**_(9:27 pm) Gilbert:_ ** _ yoooo matthew sup bro _

**_(9:28 pm) Matthew:_ ** _ Hi Gil!! _

**_(9:28 pm) Gilbert:_ ** _ we’re all eating lunch tomorrow now btw _

**_(9:28 pm) Gilbert:_ ** _ we can meet up by the vending machine _

**_(9:29 pm) Matthew:_ ** _ Does that thing even work? _

**_(9:29 pm) Gilbert:_ ** _ idk _

**_(9:29 pm) Francis:_ ** _ It does. All it has is whole grain poptarts and some granola bars.  _

**_(9:29 pm) Gilbert:_ ** _ what do you mean “all it has” poptarts are the best thing ever dude _

**_(9:30 pm) Francis:_ ** _ I’ve never actually had one. _

**_(9:30 pm) Gilbert:_ ** _ WHAT _

**_(9:30 pm) Matthew:_ ** _ That’s basically illegal. _

**_(9:30 pm) Gilbert:_ ** _ you’re eating one tomorrow and that’s final _

**_(9:31 pm) Francis:_ ** _ Alright, alright, I will. _

**_(9:31 pm) Gilbert:_ ** _ i love poptarts _

**_(9:32 pm) Matthew:_ ** _ Yeah, we can tell!  _

**_(9:32 pm) Gilbert:_ ** _ ah shit i gotta go it’s dinner time or something but yeah bye _

**_(9:32 pm) Matthew:_ ** _ I should probably go too! My brother wants me to watch this new TV show with him. Bye guys! _

**_(9:33 pm) Francis:_ ** _ Bye! _

  
Francis sighs, throwing his phone aside. He  _ really  _ should go eat something. With a groan, he heaves himself off of his bed and shuffles over to his mini fridge. Peeking inside, he sees only emptiness staring back at him. He frowns and looks over to his sink. Beside it, there’s an apple, a box of instant mashed potatoes, and a ramen noodle cup. Francis shakes his head and grabs the noodle cup with no small amount of disdain. If it were up to him, he’d eat only the finest of foods made from the finest of ingredients. However, as he is often reminded, it isn't up to him, so Francis fills the cup with water and puts it in his microwave. He turns it on and turns away from it, pacing around his small “kitchen” to keep himself awake. Why does he have to live like this? Maybe he could get a second job? 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love you guys as always! I'm already working on chapter 3, so that's on it's way. Don't worry, there will be more characters and hopefully more relationship stuff happening (eventually).


	3. Matthew, Gilbert, Arthur

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sleep, then school. Repeat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Argh, sorry this took so long! I did say this would be slow to update, but I didn't mean this long. Well, any update is better than none.

Matthew is walking along a street that he hasn’t seen before, filled with people he has never met. He can feel a strange pounding in the side of his head, and as he glances about, he presses a hand to the ache. Where is he...? Wherever it is, the sun is painfully bright, only intensifying the awful headache burning through his right temple. He hurries towards a tree on the side of the sidewalk, grateful for the shade it might provide. He leans against the tree, sighing in relief as the pain lessens in his head. As he relaxes, the voices of two men talking not far from the tree drift towards him.

 

“Hey, have you heard? About that boy who went missing?” 

 

The second man seems a bit worried when he replies, rightfully so. “No, I haven’t. In this town? Do they think he ran away?” 

 

“No, they have no idea. It’s like he just disappeared.” Matthew turns to face them, intrigued. Is it somebody he knows?

 

“Wow, really? That’s nuts.” 

 

“Yeah. It was that kid, what’s his name, the mute one.” A cold chill runs down Matthew’s spine.

 

“Oh, Alfie’s brother?” 

 

“Yeah, it’s not like anyone is going to miss him anyways. Not with an awesome brother like that.” Matthew takes a step towards the men and feels a cold breeze brush past him; when did it become overcast?

 

“Exactly. I don’t know why everybody cares so much. He was practically invisible anyways.” Matthew grips the man’s shoulder with all his strength.

 

“Hey jerkwad, I’m right here!” But the man doesn’t respond at all to Matthew.

 

“Maybe he finally went invisible for real. That’d be for the best. He’s just a waste of space as is.” The other man laughs, and Matthew feels fury rushing through his veins as rain begins to fall. 

 

“What kind of sick joke is this?! Clearly, I’m right fucking here!” But the men don’t even flinch, and Matthew can feel hot tears mixing with the rain on his face.

 

“Too bad he’s just invisible. I wish he was dead.” The men laugh, and something inside Matthew snaps. He brings his fist into the face the closest of the two, hitting him with all of his strength. Or tries to. Confused and horrified, Matthew looks down at his hands, or lack thereof. They aren’t there. Lightning strikes the ground behind Matthew, and he realizes that his whole body is gone.

 

* * *

 

 

Matthew jerks upright in bed, cold sweat trickling down the side of his face. He silently whimpers, wrapping his arms around himself and folding into a little ball. His whole body is shaking, and he can feel his chest tightening and his throat closing. If only he could scream, shout, let someone know that he was  _ dying  _ in his room. But no, he’s invisible, transparent like always and now he’s going to die all alone-

 

“Mattie!” The door to his room bursts open with a force that could only be his twin brother. Alfred rushes towards Matthew, sitting on the bed beside him and coming close, but not touching him.

 

“Matthew, listen to me, you gotta breathe. Okay bud? Everything is alright, you’re fine, just breathe and you’ll feel better.” Alfred’s voice is soft and deep and soothing, and Matthew listens to him, forcing air into his lungs. He takes a few desperate breaths, trying to get oxygen as quickly as he can. 

 

“Deep breaths, okay? C’mon, let’s breathe in for 5 seconds. Alright?” Alfred counts to five, and Matthew tries his best to breathe slowly along with his brother. Slowly, he feels the pain in his chest start to loosen. “Good, that’s good! You’re okay Mattie, just keep breathing with me.” Matthew nods and takes another deep breath, feeling the panic in his chest loosen and fade with each second. He leans against his brother and shuts his eyes, exhausted now that he isn’t dying. Raising his hands up in front of him, he tiredly begins to sign.

 

_ “I think I just died a little.”  _  Matthew feels Alfred’s hands combing through his hair soothingly.

 

“You didn’t die. I’m pretty sure that was a panic attack, actually.” Alfred sounds worried and shaken, and if Matthew wasn’t feeling as delicate as he is, he’d feel guilty. 

 

_ “Explain.”  _ He hears Alfred sigh, feels him shift a little. 

 

“Uh, so basically it’s where you get so scared your body freak out too. Kiku gets them a lot, that’s how come I know about ‘em.” Alfred pauses his petting of MAtthew’s hair, instead resting his hand on Matthew’s head gently. “What happened? You’ve never had one before, right?”

 

_ “Not before just now. I had a nightmare, so maybe it was that?”  _ Matthew feels Alfred yawn.

 

“Prolly. Can I sleep in here tonight? I’m too tired to go back to my room.” Matthew nods and lies down, leaving plenty of room for Alfred.

 

_ <How did you know to come in here, anyways?> _ There’s a bit of a pause before Alfred replies.

 

“Actually, I... I had a dream you disappeared.” Alfred sounds kinda sheepish, so Matthew turns to face him and ruffles his brother’s hair.

 

_ “Funny. That’s what my dream was about too.”  _ Matthew smiles at Alfred, pleased to see him smile back.

 

“Twin things, amirite?”

* * *

 

 

Gilbert all but melts into his seat at lunch. He’s  _ exhausted _ . How can school be so tiring, even on the rather nice amount of sleep he got last night? He glances over to Matthew on his left, then Francis across from him. The two of them look just as tired, but Matthew more so. 

 

“School is a sin!” He proclaims loudly, stretching and yawning in his seat. Matthew quirks an eyebrow at him, and Francis just nods sagely. Matthew yawns as he scrawls something down on a piece of paper, and Gilbert tries to look over his shoulder as he writes, to no avail. Instead, he waits until Matthew shows the paper to him and Francis.

 

_ <Guys, let’s go get something to eat. I’m staaaaarving!!!> _ Gilbert smiles at his friend's words. 

 

“Hell yeah! Let’s go!” He jumps out of his seat, Matthew close behind him. It takes Gilbert until they get to the lunch line to realize that Francis hasn’t followed them. He turns around and raises an eyebrow questioningly at the frenchman, who just shrugs. Figuring that it’s none of his business, Gilbert turns back to Matthew. 

 

“So... how’s life?” It’s sort of awkward, seeing as they just met the day before. Matthew doesn’t seem too bothered, just giving Gilbert a thumbs up and a smile. Then, Matthew points at Gil and raises an eyebrow as if to ask “you?”.

 

“I’m good. Start of school is always stressful, but I really like this place so far. Lots of nice people.” Gilbert winks at Matthew and nudges him. Matthew seems to get the compliment and smiles wider, nudging Gilbert back. 

 

“Hey, quit flirting and move! Some of us actually want to eat at lunch!” A shout from behind Gilbert causes color to fly to his cheeks in embarrassment. Matthew looks similar, his cheeks stained with red. Gil forces himself not to say anything back to the person who shouted, instead choosing to face forward and get his food. The lunch today is pizza- gross, but edible. Gilbert nods when the lunch lady asks him if he wants a breadstick, and moves forward in the line. He glances back at Matthew as he pays, seeing the blonde stretch in order to grab a fruit cup. He must have communicated with the lunch lady somehow, because he’s got a breadstick and marinara on his tray. Gilbert faintly wonders why he seems to have more trouble with people than a mute boy. He can’t seem to control his mouth, can he? Or just stay out of the spotlight. 

 

Gilbert gives himself a little shake and walks back to the table, ignoring the way his arms itch under his long sleeves. He needs to save this crap for home. Nobody wants to see him being a pussy, not when everyone else has far worse problems and handle them far better. Gil sets his tray down and fixes a wide grin on his face and looks over to Matthew as the blonde sits down beside him. 

 

“So, how’s school treating you so far?” Gilbert nudges him with an elbow, and Matthew returns his smile, scribbling on his paper. 

 

_ <It’s good! Better than last year, for sure.> _ Gil reads the note and then nods. 

 

“Yeah, same here. School’s a little different in Germany.” Gilbert turns to the third member of their table, who’s just sitting and staring off into space. “What about you, Francis?” 

 

The frenchman jumps a little at his name, but he quickly collects himself. “Oh, I am doing well. The teachers ‘ere are all very nice, which is a relief.” Francis smiles at the two of them, which in turn makes Gilbert’s smile a lot more real. See, he hasn’t fucked anything up! He’s doing good! Making friends!

 

Matthew pushes a note across the table, turning it so Francis can read it. Gilbert struggles a bit to read it upside down, but he manages.  _ <I’m glad you like it here! Did you forget your lunch at home?> _ Gil watches as Francis bites his lip, a worried expression on his face.

 

“Ah... I do not eat lunch, normally.” Francis isn’t meeting their eyes, and, frankly, it’s worrying Gilbert a bit. 

 

“Why not?” Gilbert stares at Francis, who doesn’t answer, instead shrugging his shoulders and turning red. His brow furrowing, Gilbert holds his breadstick out to Francis. “Here. You don’t have to explain.” Gilbert hopes he’ll take it.

 

Francis looks at Gilbert in what appears to be surprise. “Thank you.”He doesn’t elaborate, instead taking the breadstick and starting to eat it. The way he takes a bite out of it, ripping it and chewing as fast as humanly possible reminds Gilbert of a starving animal. Sympathy throbs in Gilbert's chest, raw and uninvited. People have a  _ lot  _ worse issues than hurting themselves. And didn’t Gilbert think Francis was hurting himself too, at first? Thought he wasn’t eating on  _ purpose _ ? Projecting. Always projecting.

 

Matthew hands Francis his breadstick and marinara as soon as the frenchman finishes the first. They smile at eachother, Francis accepting the gift with a nod and Matthew giving him a thumbs up. Gilbert is glad that he has friends this year, even if he himself isn’t up to par. 

 

* * *

 

Arthur wonders if his family forgot that he’s at school today. It certainly seems that way, given that school’s been over for an hour and he’s still here, sitting on a bench and watching the now empty parking lot. Arthur wonders when the sun will set, and if he’ll be home by then. It’s what, five now? He sighs. The sun won’t set until eight, at least. Maybe he’ll miss dinner? That would be awful. The house chef really knows what she’s doing. 

 

Arthur  _ would  _ call, but his phone is dead and the school’s front office is closed by now, making a call home impossible. His family won’t even notice he’s gone; often, he’ll sulk in his room all night. He wouldn’t be missed until morning, and by then it’d be too late. Arthur sighs and stands up, brushing his legs off. He stretches, enjoying the way his back pops when he leans back. He’s left with no choice- he’ll walk. Not to his house, but to the nearest business. Then, he’ll call and get someone to come and get him, most likely one of the drivers. If he’s lucky, one of his brothers will be out and they’ll have their chauffeur swing by and grab him. If he’s not, then they’re all out and none of them care to stop. He’ll have to wait, probably for hours. 

 

Well, pessimism isn’t going to get him home. Arthur starts walking, headed towards the neighborhood beside the school. It’s a nice enough area, but Arthur can’t help but compare it to his own. Cookie cutter, two-story houses just don’t match up to his house, or mansion rather. Not that he would  _ mind  _ living elsewhere. He’s just so used to comparing, to hearing criticism of everything. His brothers are so good at being critical, especially of him. Arthur kicks at some leaves, sending them up into the air. So what if he was a little rebellious? So what if he had his own opinions? It’s not like one little opinion would bring the whole family down. Arthur doesn’t matter, anyway. The family does just fine without him. 

 

A distant yelling distracts Arthur from his thoughts, and he looks up. A few houses ahead, what looks to be two blonde boys are playing basketball in their driveway. Sort of. It looks a bit more like one of them is dribbling circles around the other and laughing loudly, while the other is doing something with his hands. Is that sign language? 

 

As Arthur gets closer, he can hear what the louder boy is saying. Maybe “boy” is inaccurate. They look to be about Arthur’s age, and they look more alike the closer he gets. Are they twins?

 

“Dude, I met some cool people too! There’s this dude named Matthias, which is cool cause it’s so much like your name! And he’s foreign too, and also he’s a lot like me. He’s always following around this really quiet dude, and I don’t know why, but still, he’s pretty awesome!” He laughs, and then the other guy (this one has longer hair, Arthur notes) signs something in return, which only makes his brother laugh harder. Arthur squints, trying to understand the sign, but the boy has his back to him. Arthur’s nearly certain it’s ASL though, not BSL. He suddenly finds himself glad that he learned both, not just BSL like he wanted to at the time. 

 

“Hey, dude!” Arthur raises his eyebrows. Is he talking to him? 

 

“Yes?” As Arthur speaks, the shorter haired guy waves at him, and he tentatively waves back. What does he want?   
  


“Aren’t you in English with me? What are you doing here? Do you live nearby?” He sounds familiar, now that Arthur thinks about it. They probably do have class together. 

 

“I think we do have english together, and uh... I don’t live near here, no.” Arthur sounds a bit of a mess, but there’s no helping it. 

 

“How come you’re walking around here then?”The boy walks closer to him- what was his name again? Arthur should remember this!

 

“My family forgot to have me picked up, so I’m walking to a gas station to call them.” Arthur wonders if that sounds weird. 

 

“Really? That blows, man!” The boy- Alfred, that was his name!- grins at him. “You can use my phone, here!” He hands Arthur an iPhone with an american flag case. Arthur stares at it blankly. “The password is “freedom”!”

 

“Thanks.” Arthur is not sure what to make of Alfred. He’s awfully... enthusiastic. Regardless, his phone will work. Arthur unlocks it and types in the house number, praying someone will pick up. 

 

_ “Hello, Kirkland residence.”  _ Arthur sighs in relief. He knows this voice, and it’s one of the drivers. Thank goodness. 

 

“Hello, it’s Arthur. Could you please come and pick me up? I seem to have been forgotten.” Arthur glances at the mailbox. “I’m at 451 Quincy St.”

 

There’s a slight pause.  _ “I will be there shortly, sir. I apologize for not being at the school to pick you up. It was not on the schedule, but it is now.” _ The man sounds slightly scared.

 

Arthur sighs. “Don’t sorry about it. Just hurry up.” He hangs up, and passes the phone back to Alfred.

 

“Who was that? You dad or something?” Alfred sounds curious, not suspicious like Arthur is used to.

 

“Or something. Thanks for letting me use your phone.” 

 

Alfred waves his hand dismissively. “It’s no problem. Gotta help a guy out, be heroic, all that.” Arthur is moderately confused, but he refrains from asking. It’s probably an inside joke, seeing as the other guy snickers silently. Is he deaf? Can’t be, Alfred’s back is to him and Alfred isn’t signing anything. 

  
Arthur sighs. All that’s left is to wait. Soon he’ll be home, not that that’s a real comfort.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like writing Gilbert like this is really fun, but I do have to write for the others at some point hahah! Oh, and how did you guys like the introduction of Arthur? If any of the rich stuff is inaccurate, let me know. I have no idea how rich people live their lives lol. (also, I made up Alfred's and Matthew's address. idk if it's a real place) Also, this is NOT a UsUk fic.


	4. Alfred, Gilbert

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone has flaws, everyone has problems.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is this chapter incredibly late? Yup! Is it too short? Yup! Do I have a good excuse? 
> 
> ...not really tbh. But, I've started a hetalia imagine blog so that's mostly why it's late. Here's the link in case you care: http://hhhetalia-imagines.tumblr.com/

Alfred leans back in his chair, head tilted back towards the ceiling. “But Mattie, what if aliens are  _ here _ , and they’re just really good at hiding?” He tilts back further, as to see his brother signing, but he can’t understand sign language upside down. Instead of responding to whatever Matthew just said, he groans loudly. “What if  _ I’m  _ an alien?”

 

He hears Matthew sigh as he walks over, wiping flour off of his hands and onto his jeans. He pushes Alfred’s chair, forcing all four feet on the ground. Alfred groans again, but he watches as Matthew signs. 

 

_ “You’re not an alien, they might be on earth but they aren’t hurting anyone or we’d know, and quit leaning back in that chair or you’ll bust your brains open.”  _ Matthew sets his hands on his hips as soon as he’s done and walks back into the kitchen.

 

Alfred giggles. “Okay mom! Whatever you say!” He laughs harder when he sees Matthew flipping him off. Okay, so  _ maybe  _ he’s being a little annoying, but he’s having fun! And he knows Mattie doesn’t mind, which is a nice change from school. He might not let it bother him, but he knows that a lot of people don’t like how loud he is and how annoying he can be and all that. Sighing, he gets out of the chair and walks into the kitchen, staring with interest as Matthew presses a pie crust into a pan.

 

“What’s cooking bro?” He watches as Matthew carefully presses the edges of the pie crust into a fluted shape. He glances at Alfred, and Alfred knows that he’s going to finish the crust before he responds. It’s not much of a wait though, because Matthew knows what he’s doing, and soon he’s sliding the crust into the fridge. 

 

_ “Quiche. We have a lot of eggs in the fridge, and Mom said she was craving breakfast for dinner.”  _ Matthew pauses.  _ “I wonder if she’s stuck in traffic? Normally she’s home by now.” _

 

Alfred smiles at his brother. “I’m sure she’ll be home soon, no need to worry! Just keep cooking, cause that smells great!” He claps a hand on Matthew’s shoulder and beams at him, feeling his smile stretch the sides of him face. There’s no need for Mattie to worry! His brother shouldn’t have to worry about anything, ever.

 

_ “Thanks, Al.”  _ Matthew returns his smile and turns back to the counter, mixing a yellow liquid with bacon using a whisk. Alfred nods and walks out of the kitchen, his work done. He passes by the couch, instead choosing to walk into his bedroom. It’s Thursday, and although he wishes it was Friday, he’s still shocked at how quickly the week has passed. Soon it’ll be the end of the school year!

 

He plops down on his Superman bedspread with a contented sigh. There’s nothing like a good talk with your brother and a comfy bed to cheer you up after a stressful day at school! Not that he ever has stressful days. Alfred is far too heroic to get down about other people.

 

Or so he likes to think, but it’s hard to ignore the insults when his own brain echoes them back. He's annoying,stupid, self absorbed, loud, and in the way; nobody wants him at school and sometimes he wonders why he bothers talking to people at all. Nobody but Matthew would miss his incessant chatter, but as often as he tells himself he'll shut up, he can't ever close his mouth. It's like he's missing any kind of control, like he was born with Mattie's voice as well as his own. He'd never act on it, but sometimes he wonders what'd happen if he stitched his mouth shut or cut out his throat, or drank something to burn it out. Would anyone notice?

 

No, he can't let himself think like that! He's gotta be strong, for Matthew. After all, he'd had a panic attack just the night before. Alfred needs to be there for him, to keep him safe. Matthew needs him, and Alfred knows without a doubt that he needs Matthew just as much. Well, Alfred hopes that Matthew needs him. If he doesn't, then what is he alive for? 

 

“No, bad Al. Happy thoughts.” Alfred scrubs tears he hadn't noticed before off of his eyes. “You're cool. The hero. You're just stressed and hungry. Yeah. Hungry.” Alfred stands up, stretching. Pushing his door open gently, he peers into the living room. Matthew is asleep, his head resting on the armrest of the couch, and his glasses starting to fall off. Alfred giggles before realizing he might wae his brother, and he creeps over quietly, tiptoeing on the wood floor. He stops just in front of his brother, carefully pulling the glasses off of his face and setting them on the coffee table. He smiles fondly at his brother. Matthew  _ does  _ need him, at least a little.

 

* * *

 

 

Gilbert stares blankly at the TV before switching it off. It’s Saturday, and while Gil should be happy the first week of school is over, he’s not. He feels like he’s wasting his weekend, burning away every second that could be better used it he wasn’t such a lazy loser. Gilbert sighs and leans forward, burying his face in his hands. He  _ really, really  _ wants to cut, but he can’t. Not right now, when Ludwig is sitting on the other side of the living room and will be  _ very  _ suspicious if Gilbert goes to his room. He wouldn’t suspect him of cutting, not yet, but he’d think Gilbert is hiding something and Gilbert can’t afford that.

 

“Bruder?” Gilbert’s head snaps up, looking at Ludwig. His brother’s brows are furrowed, and he’s staring at Gilbert. “What’s wrong?” 

 

Gilbert forces a smile. “Nothing. I’m awesome, as always!” Ludwig shakes his head, clearly unconvinced, and he gets up, walking over to the couch where Gilbert sits. He plops down beside him, putting a hand on Gilbert’s shoulder.

 

“You’ve been... worse. Since school started again.” Ludwig swallows, and Gilbert can see the worry in his face. It hadn’t occurred to him that Ludwig had noticed anything in the first place, much less that he might notice him getting  _ worse. _ And he has. He’s got rows and rows of itchy cuts and rolls and rolls of dirty gauze to prove it. 

 

But he tries to hide it anyway. “Worse? What do you mean?” He can hear his own voice shaking and he knows he’s not convincing. He’s never been a good liar. Never been a good anything, actually. 

 

“You have been spending more time in your room.” Ludwig pauses to take a breath. “You have not been talking as much. You are quiet, and I heard you crying last night.” Ludwig looks pained, so pained. Gilbert did that. He did that to his baby brother.

 

“I’m fine Luddy, nothing to worry about.” He tries and fails to put on a convincing smile. Oh well. Ludwig wouldn’t have believed it anyways. 

 

Ludwig shakes his head. “If you are having trouble, please bruder, talk to me. I don’t like seeing you like this.” Frankly Gil’s surprised he would like seeing him  _ at all.  _ But he doesn’t say that.

 

“I’ll talk to you if I need to Luddy, I promise. I’m okay though, really. Just a bit of stress.” That’s all it is. Stress. Gilbert’s just being a bit dramatic about stress from school. There’s nothing else going on here, not at all. Gilbert is handling things just fine. The only reason there’s any problem at all is because he’s a whiny bitch.

 

Reluctantly, Ludwig stands up. “Alright, just...” He trails off. “Dinner’s almost ready.” Gilbert nods in response, watching Ludwig disappear back into the kitchen. At least he knows Ludwig cares about him. That makes one person. He checks his phone. No messages, not that he expected any really. He may have met two people, but that doesn’t mean they care about him or want to talk to him. Even  _ he  _ wouldn’t want to talk to himself if he had a choice. He wishes that he could shut himself up. Wait, no, that sounded vaguely like a suicide reference. That’s not what he meant. Probably.

 

Gilbert shakes off his thoughts and stands up, back popping as he stretches. He walks into the kitchen lazily, watching Ludwig spoon mashed potatoes onto two plates.

 

“Hey, it’s the Ludwig classic! Wurst and potatoes!” Ludwig just nods in response to Gil’s comment, grabbing both plates and carrying them towards the kitchen table. “Is Opa not going to be home tonight?” Gil takes his usual seat, and he smiles at Ludwig when he hands him the plate.

 

“He will be home Tuesday. He called earlier, when you were showering.” Ludwig’s face is impassive, but Gilbert knows he wishes their grandfather was home. Gilbert wishes he were home too, but there’s nothing he can do about it. He glances over at his brother’s plate, surprised to see less food than his. Normally, Ludwig would eat nearly twice as much as Gilbert, but today it’s more like half.

 

“What’s with your portion size, West? Not hungry?” Gilbert smiles, but he’s worried. Why’s his baby brother eating less?

 

Ludwig stabs his wurst and cuts it with his knife. “I’m cutting.” Gilbert’s heart freezes in his chest.

 

“ _ What?”  _ He chokes on the words, a cough spluttering out afterwards. He sees Ludwig give him a confused and mildly concerned look. 

 

“It’s a bodybuilding thing. You bulk up, then cut down. I’m cutting down starting today, and I ate a lot before I worked out earlier.” His voice is slow and calm, which Gilbert knows is for his benefit, but it helps nonetheless.

 

“Oh, okay, that makes sense. I think I got the english meaning of “cutting” confused with “dying” for a minute there.” He chuckles in a way that he hopes is convincing, because if Luddy figures out the real reason he freaked out a little, he’s majorly screwed.

 

To his relief, Ludwig chuckles. “I am definitely not dying anytime soon, Gil.” He takes a bite of his sausage, and Gilbert remembers that he’s got food in front of him too. He digs in, enjoying his brother’s cooking and the knowledge that his secret is safe.

**Author's Note:**

> Hopefully you guys liked this! As always, kudos and comments are much appreciated and motive me to write more!


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